Dragon Eyes
by Chaos In Her Wake
Summary: Before the dwarves and Bilbo, of course, went to regain the great treasure at Erebor, the mountain first had to be taken by Smaug the Magnificent. This is that takeover, from the great red dragon's perspective. Not consistent with Tolkien's histories.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, here it is- my Tolkien FF debut. Hope you guys enjoy! Please note that this is technically an AU, as it is inconsistent with the written history. :) It is the tale of Smaug's takeover of Erebor- eventually it will be two or three chapters long. Thanks for reading; R&R! **

**Thanks to the best beta reader ever, Sauron Gorthaur!**

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The snapdragons bloomed at the base of the mountain. "How fitting," I thought, "Snapdragons for a snappish dragon!" Indeed, my teeth have left many marks on the wings and tails of the other young wyrms. The greater dragons, those with their magnificent, shining horns fully grown in, told stories of the Mountain and its heaps of glittering treasure. They growled low of gleaming dragon-skin armor and ivory dragon horn and dragon tooth ornaments- our ancestors' remains!

It had once been ours. Erebor the nesting place. Green and pure of Men, the mountain sheltered ridged eggs and jeweled walls. The very oldest dragons had breathed and burned the jewels from the new caverns, melting back the walls to find the shining gems. As they fell from the walls, our soft bellies became encrusted and protected.

Yet the Elves had not had their clashes and were deeply ignorant of the existence of the glorious Wyrms. The Stone People were the first to know of us. Before their weak mouths could form words, before their pale hands built hammers and cities, the Stone People knew of the dragons. We reveled in their primitive, ingrained fear, but they were amusing to the wyrms of old and they were left mostly alive. They left the Dwarves, as the Stone People learned to call themselves when they developed speech, and coiled their great bodies through the skies to the towns of Men. Men were the preferred flesh, not tough like the Dwarves.

The dragons underestimated the newly established Dwarven civilizations. We believed that no being could unseat us from the Mountain and our fearsome majesty. But Erebor was sacked by thousands of Dwarves from all over our world and theirs; the mighty Wyrms were driven away or slaughtered. The new eggs in the nests under the Mountain were destroyed, and the Stone People set up a city under the Mountain. Even the oldest dragons cannot remember the Great Flight. When the strongest dragons could no longer fly from the lost Mountain, they settled deep in the grey peaks that they saw beneath their claws. Eventually, Men tried to spoil Flight Rest, but they fled when the great dragons of that age poured forth, those wyrms who are no longer great this day, but lie as bleached bones and shattered teeth. Even the Necromancer, feared among Men, Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, goblins, and Wizards alike, set the border of his territory a fair distance from the edge of the Dragons' nests. The oldest dragons, the storytellers and mentors who can no longer hunt for themselves, vaguely remember the arrival of the Necromancer.

Old Thiel was telling some of the gentler wyrmlings of the devastation of Erebor when Karr and I attacked. Since our hatching days, Karr and I have competed against each other- we strove to defeat the other in hunting, wyrm lore, and especially ferocity. I drew blood on his armored tail with my needle teeth. "Weak scales for one so proud!" I jeered the insult at him, angering my opponent further. He screamed and snarled out a billowing scarlet flame lest I escape from him uninjured. However, I somersaulted away from him and his fire caught on the tip of a wyrmling's tail. She shrieked with pain- her hide was not yet tough and smooth with scales, but the soft skin of a baby. The fire, writhing in the day's fine breeze, crawled up the sapphire leather. Flapping her burning baby's wings, the young one was consumed by that which the rest of us manipulated in order to consume. Karr was horrified at his deed, and I too was ashamed of the terrible act I had participated in. Old Thiel lifted his majestic emerald snout to the overcast skies and roared the mourning call of the Wyrmfolk. Others of the matured dragons soared to the caves to see what had happened and to grieve over the charred remains of the blue youngling. Thiel, after the mourning call was made and carried on by other dragons, swept Karr and me along with his great tail. We were forced to the den of the Wyrmking.

"Both of you shall depart from Flight Rest, never to return," the Wyrmking rumbled, "Karr the Fierce, you shall be banished to the lands of the Necromancer in the west, for the direct death of the hatchling." Karr groveled at the Wyrmking's claws, sniveling and growling pitifully for mercy. Noble Wyrmking stood firm. "Both of you are beginning to receive your horns; you are able to safely leave Flight Rest." Karr shoved me one last time as he flapped from the one home both of us had known, but as I leaned against the craggy wall, I scraped my tail against the stone floor and tripped Karr. He left disgraced.

Now Wyrmking addressed me. I found it quite dishonorable that the only time the majestic king ever spoke to me was to banish me from his territory. "Smaug the Golden, for provoking Karr to his wretched act, you will also leave Flight Rest forever." I refused to whine like my nemesis. "You will go to the south and the east, even as Karr went to the west. You will leave Dragon territories and find a place to settle. Now go!" Wyrmking snapped his great teeth a fang-length from my snout and a puff of smoke escaped his golden muzzle. My throat tightened, and I let out a rasping cough. Still, I left Flight Rest dignified.

Flapping my crimson wings, I soared through the falling-leaf-time air, over coiling dragon-tail rivers and dark, inviting forests. Small Men towns dotted the flat landscape, and I took a few soft humans for each for my meals, supplemented with animals from the forests that were always nearby. Each night I let my transparent eyelid slide over the golden orb- it was bad form to close my main, scaly eyelid- and curled my great scarlet body into a small hill; I slept fitfully each night without a sturdy cave to dwell in.

As I flew on, the plains grew dead- barren and brown. Only a thin blue-grey river trailed through the land, terminating in a lake. A single human had set up a small hut near the Lake, but I was not hungry. One Man would never amount to any sort of threat against me. Focusing on the glorious sight ahead, I totally ignored the creature. Looming on the near horizon- a mountain. The Mountain. The fields nearby were well-kept. Surprisingly clean for the stone-dwellers' territory. Some younger dwarves were playing in the shadow of Erebor, but none of the Stone People had yet sighted my gleaming scales. I wheeled about in my flight and concealed myself in a forest not too far from the Mountain.

The Stone People had grown fat and lazy. True, their hammers still rang out on their anvils, molding the gold and jewels under the Mountain- I could hear the jarring noises, but they thought too highly of themselves. They did not even bother to post guards at the gate to the Mountain. I allowed a line of smoke to drift to the sky in my anger at the Stone People. They may have been formidable once, but they had let themselves fall from power. They were naught but glorified smiths. I could retake the Mountain- I could take it for my home, avenge my ancestors, and live for a long- very long- time with plenty of deep-dwelling dwarves and nearby Men to feast upon. I could exact the perfect revenge.

From my perch, Erebor's gates seemed to open wide, beckoning me to the mountain my elders have so long talked about in anger and loss. I was young and strong- the best fighter among all the wyrmlings at Flight Rest. Was I too young? My horns, while they have grown in pale as ivory to almost the length of my fangs, were not the magnificent examples that the ancient wyrms sport. Older dragons were driven away from Erebor when the Stone People rose.

No matter, I could easily win the Mountain. The dwarves had grown to think that they were undefeatable, as the dragons of yore once had. Always, it seemed to me, this path of thought leads to devastation and downfall. I drew one of my exquisite claws along my horn thoughtfully. I could take Erebor back.

Lying awake that night, I watched and listened for dwarves. No voices reached my scaly ears and nothing, save a family of mountain hares which I immediately snapped up, came into my line of vision. The anvils rang and thrumming voices sang, but no dwarf spoke of the red dragon. Deep in my reptilian heart, their ignorance made me glad. They would know and fear the name of Smaug soon enough. They would not know what hit them when I avenged my ancestors, who were slain for their hides or driven away from their home.

The morning light brought with it an increase of Dwarvish work-noises and an insatiable desire for revenge. I burst from my haze of sleep and unfurled my blood-red wings. Today the Mountain would fall. I roared and the very ground shook with my anger.

The snapdragons bloomed at the base of the mountain. How fitting.

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**Well, yes, a bit of a cliffhanger. Next chapter will hopefully be much better. Thanks for reading- hope you enjoyed, so R&R! Constructive critiscism appreciated (praise, too). Flames will be given to Smaug to roast the flamer with.**


	2. Chapter 2

I unfurled my great crimson wings, finally prepared to do battle and seize my throne under the Mountain. The valley's great trees bent under the wind of my flight, and I soared into the biting mountain air. My time had arrived. The young dwarves screamed as I flew over them, but I ignored their cries for now. They were not my worry- their elders were. None of the fat dwarves sitting lazy in the Mountain would remember their kind's attack on the dragons, just as none of the dragons remembered our ousting from old Erebor. Only the Mountain itself would still recall the attacks. So I flew coiling through the air towards the Mountain.

The gates were not open to me as I dove from the sky like a blazing star, but there was a small cave on the side of the Mountain that perhaps I could fit through. I twisted towards that aperture, but alas I was too large and I almost became lodged in the stone postern. I tore my head from the hole and blasted a tongue of flame through the tunnel, raising shrieks of "Dragon! Dragon!" from the inhabitants of Erebor. Let the Dwarves know of my coming. Let them fear me. I pushed off from the side of the mountain and swerved around its craggy edges. I would take Erebor from the front, then. So be it. My great scaly maw seemed to be alive with fire as the gates of the Mountain came into view.

The Dwarves began to arrive at the entrance to their stronghold as I hovered above the stony gates. Their mithril armor had quite obviously been arranged in great haste, and I allowed myself a small grin. Some of the fatter dwarves even had set their helms on askew. I crashed into the gates and they gave a creaking clash. My ivory claws scraped along the front row of my enemies through the gaps in the accesses. Several Dwarves fell to their knees, bleeding. I roared again and flew a second time towards the gates. They shuddered in their dilapidated joints. One more time and the gates collapsed to let me in. How dare the Dwarves bar up Erebor? How dare they try to hinder the processes of time in its most lovely workings- the changing of stone? The gates fell and I was glad. Soon they too would fall like their doors.

My fire was upon my opponents like snow in the winter- like an army upon a small village. Long gray beards caught fire and wooden ax-handles were aflame. The Stone People shouted, and some of the startled ones dropped their weapons. My laughter rolled like thunder in the air.

"Give up now and exile yourselves, dwarves, and I shall allow you to live- all except your king!" It was a lie, of course. I would devour as many as I could as fast as I could. But my nemeses were stubborn as always, and their remaining numbers threatened me. Their ranks grew as those dwarves who dwelt deeper in the Mountain found their way to the front gates of Erebor. I bellowed my immense fury and lunged forward, diving through the gates. By now a golden coat of arms was weaving through the Dwarves. Their precious little King under the Mountain, Thrain II. His father Thror, wearing a heavily jewelled coat, was next to him, shouting out orders. The dwarves threw axes and knives at me as I plunged into their great halls, but I dodged the projectiles. Except for one dagger, which became stuck in my soft underbelly. I screamed in pain and wheeled back towards my enemies. They would pay for this. I dipped my great teeth down and plucked a dwarf from the fray, sending him screaming down my gullet with one gulp. The others slashed at me as I flew upwards once again, but they were far off their target. I swiped my claws through the air and several others went flying, arms and soft little legs flailing.

"Your attempts at conquest are futile, beast!" one of the bolder creatures shouted at me. "Give up and return to your hold." I chuckled.

"O fat one, I believe it is your efforts that are in vain!" That Dwarf was engulfed in a raging blast of my wrath. He burned with his companions, and I turned around. My path took me deep into the Mountain.

The Dwarven halls had taken the jewels the dragons had unearthed and used them to build. I did not let my eyes wander and take in the structures fashioned entirely out of gleaming gems, but I settled on the stone floor and awaited the Dwarves. I had to destroy enough of them that the others would flee the Mountain- and take down as many of those as I could as well. No Dwarf should set his or her mind on retaking Erebor and have enough followers to even dent my rule. I growled deep in my throat as the Stone People poured into the cavern. Not one of them hesitated in fear- typical stubborn Dwarves. With one swipe of my tail, the stout bodies began to heap up against the dimly lit walls. But they kept advancing, and I crouched low to the ground, shielding my pale underbelly. They were right at my sides, but my scarlet scales turned every stroke they made against me. With tooth and nail I fought the hordes, smoke drifting from my snout all the while.

The Dwarves seemed to be running out of combatants, and the ones who remained were beginning to run through the smaller corridors. One low voice called out from beside my shoulder. "Stay, valiant dwarves! Stay and fight the beast with me!" A glint of gold and jewels glimmered and I lunged, skimming the helmet from Thrain's royal head and gashing Thror's shoulder. He clamped his rough hand to his arm, still shouting for his people to come back to do battle against me. A small group of Dwarves came and surrounded their kings as I attacked them. The entourage was falling like weaklings, but the dwarves managed to keep my blows away from Thrain and Thror. They fled up a small tunnel and I saw a bit of light at the end. The same postern I had tried to enter Erebor through earlier! I breathed fire up the path, and somebody screamed in pain, but the voice was not that of my target. I howled up to the vaulting cavern ceiling. My victims had escaped.

But I could make sure they would not return well-armed. I tore through the maze of corridors in a rage, devouring every dwarf I saw, weapons or none. It could not be that enough dwarves had escaped to form a sizable attack party, but my bloodlust was not fading. The Mountain was mine!

I let my wing beats become lazier and my fire retreated to my belly. I had done it. I had retaken Erebor! I swung my tail into the great columns of jewels in the huge halls, knocking them down and returning the Mountain to a more natural, stonier state. It was still like the stories described, once the Dwarven structures had been destroyed.

I explored my new kingdom, bringing the Dwarves' heaps of gold into the main cavern. The ringing piles were lovely- they would make a very nice nest. In the richest trove of them all, I discovered something beautiful- truly wonderful. Dragons can see the richness of many things, oh yes. The white stone glimmered as if it had light hidden within, and its many-faceted surface threw the light across the stone walls.

A pang of agony shot through my belly. The knife! It was still embedded in my flesh and I plucked it out tenderly with my serrated claws. I could not try to maintain my place of rule with such a soft stomach. My gaze was drawn to the gems scattered on the floor. I could use them like my ancestors did- encrust them to my belly and form a shield. I lay on the pile of gems and felt their edges begin to sink into my flesh at once. It burned around my open wound. Treasures would never embed in the scar tissue, but the chink would be so small it would become totally insignificant during battle. I settled in my newfound stash of trinkets and let the gems build me a shield.

Even as my wound healed, realization stabbed me. I had completed the cycle. Although some young dwarves and the kings under the Mountain escaped, Erebor belonged to the dragons once again. Well, it did not belong to the dragons, per say. I drew patterns in the heaps of gold coins with my claw as my black heart seized upon the truth. Erebor was mine alone.

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**Well, there you have it, folks- the dragon's (historically inconsistent ;) ) story! Thanks for reading; R&R! **

**And thanks to my beta reader, Sauron Gorthaur!**


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